


Get Me Out of Here

by MuchBuffy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Dramedy, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuchBuffy/pseuds/MuchBuffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you're trying to kill a slayer, maybe you should throw something at her that might actually, you know, kill her. Instead I'm stuck with a pathetic excuse for a vampire –”<br/>“Hey!”<br/>“– in what seems to be an empty, pretend, building.”</p><p>After the first slayer paid a visit to their dreams that night, the scoobies thought the worst was behind them. Well, everyone except Buffy. And maybe she had every right to be worried after all.<br/>Goes off canon at the end of 4x22 Restless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Dactylgirl, for being the most incredible beta. I owe you many pineapples.  
> This chapter begins with a quote from 4x22 Restless.

 

**_”You think you know, who you are, what's to come. You haven't even begun.”_ **

 

“Well that was creepy.” Buffy muttered to herself as she grabbed her toothbrush from the mirror cabinet. 

They'd done it though. They'd defeated Adam, bringing down the whole Initiative with him. The day was saved and they had come out on top. She should have been feeling the apocalypse-averting satisfaction that came with it, but tonight there was no such thing. Tonight she had a knot in her gut the size of, well, Adam’s fist. 

The visit from the first slayer had unnerved her more than she had let on in front of her friends. Something was seriously wrong. Some new evil was already on the rise, and if the slayer dream was any indication, this one was a biggie. 

Buffy finished brushing and leaned over to spit, meeting her reflection on the way up. She looked just as unsettled as she felt.  _ Not good. _

She just wanted to understand what the dream had meant; was it trying to warn her about something? If it even meant anything at all. Maybe Giles was right, it was probably just a side effect from the joining spell. No need to overthink it.

Then why had it felt like so much more?

She turned off the bathroom light and knocked on her mom’s door frame before popping her head in. 

“Mom, I'm going to bed. Hopefully no more supernatural dreams for me tonight.” she said, trying to unsuccessfully suppress a yawn. “And remind me to never fall asleep on the sofa again, my neck is  _ not _ happy with me.”

Joyce gave her a thoughtful look and smiled. 

“Alright honey, sleep well. Oh, and tomorrow, after you've slept half the day away, I think I should take you shopping. My treat!”

Buffy smiled back. “It's a date!”

“Good. Then I can make up for a few months of not getting to spoil you enough.”

Buffy's smile widened as she turned to walk away. 

“Buffy?”

She turned back. “Hm?”

“Is everything okay?”

Great. Now she had her mom worried as well. She went over and sat down next to Joyce on the bed, giving her the most reassuring look she could muster up at the moment. “Besides an achy neck, I am fine. Just a long day.”

Her reassuring look obviously needed work, because Joyce didn't look convinced. After a moment she gave in anyway and took Buffy's hand. 

“If you say so. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yup! Tomorrow. You, me, the mall, for a good time of all-you-can-shop.”

“I said make up for a few  _ months _ of spoiling, not a few  _ years _ .”

 

An hour later, Buffy was still lying awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling. After a lot of tossing and turning, she'd given up and was back to thinking about  _ The Dream _ . Everyone she loved had featured in it too. She didn't like that, she didn't like that one bit. She hated the idea of whatever big bad was after her might be after them as well, in a more direct sense than usual that is. 

But she knew there was no point in obsessing about it now. She needed rest so she could spend time with her mother tomorrow, then go talk to Giles and see if he could make some more sense of the whole thing. So, with a deep sigh she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, determined to fall asleep. 

  
  


_ She was weightless, in a state not quite aware, floating in a sea of warmth. _

_ The silhouette of a woman loomed up ahead, light coming from behind her. _

_ She turned towards Buffy and spoke, her words echoing from every direction:“The worst is yet to come.” _

_ It was wrong, to give such un-soothing words, such a soothing voice. _

_ “You see,” The woman came closer, heat radiating off her. “Things don't always turn out as planned.” _

_ She kept walking forward, slow, soundless steps, until she was right in front of Buffy.  _

_ How strange, so close, but still only a silhouette.  _

_ In her serene, melodious voice, she continued: “But, if you ask the right questions, you will find the right answers.” _

  
  


Buffy groaned. Boy, had she slept bad. The first thing she registered was the pain in her neck, and how unusually cold her room was. Then in quick succession she became aware of a few other things that didn't seem quite right. Like the fact that she was half sitting, half laying. Or that she was resting her head on a hard surface, like … a table?

She forced her eyes open and saw a wall of books. That made her sit up straight real fast.

With her heart in her throat, she ripped away the piece of paper that was stuck to her face, and stared around the room with uncomfortably wide eyes.

She was in the library.  _ The Sunnydale High _ library.

_ Giles must have let me sleep through the night.  _ Wait, that wasn’t right either, the library was gone. The whole school was gone. And had been  _ for more than a year. _

She flew to her feet, making the chair she was sitting in topple backwards.

Okay, so she had to be dreaming; strange dreams seemed to be her thing lately anyway. Feeling more than a little freaked out, Buffy slapped herself, accidentally putting a bit more slayer strength into it than intended.

Holding her now aching jaw and feeling even more alarmingly awake than before, she cursed and tried not to panic. 

“This is bad. Bad, bad, baaad.” she chanted as she padded, barefoot, into Giles’ office to pick up the phone.

Silence.

“Bad, bad, bad, bad.”

If she wasn't asleep, there was only one option left. She'd lost her mind. Too many years of slaying had done her in completely this time. After a moment she shook herself. No. No this was all too real, something was doing this to her. Something evil. Something whose butt she was going to kick.

Buffy walked determinedly out into the school hallway, but paused at the library doorway as she caught a glimpse of the windows. It was pitch black outside. She remembered she used to be able to see street lights, even at night.

She paused for a moment, considering, then took off at a dead run towards the main exit. She ran through doorways and twisting hallways until she got to the final turn. She could see the exit up ahead, but something was wrong, something more than just the looming darkness on the other side. The closer she came, the thicker the air got. And colder. Her run became a jog, which slowed in turn to a walk. By the time she was a couple of feet away from the exit, her hair was standing on end. Staring out into the thick gloom, she felt an alarming level of wiggins. But pure determination made her close the distance and reach for the door. 

She got what could only be described as a really bad static shock. It did nothing but sting her hand a bit, but was enough to make her pull her away and back up a few steps.

With a growing frown, she looked from her hand to the black outside. There was some seriously dark mojo happening here, which meant that she had no idea what leaving the school would do to her. Or even what opening the doors would do to her.  _ Crap. _

Turning around, she made her way back to the library, stopping every now and then to turn on the lights for the occasional dark corridor, and listen for possible enemies. Or well, for signs of any other life – undead or alive. So far she seemed to be completely alone. Which was not helping one bit with the wiggins part. She also  _ really _ felt like killing whoever was responsible for this right now.

When Buffy reached the library she went and picked up the chair she'd toppled before, and sat back down with a long sigh. No wonder she'd been so cold before, she was still in her pyjamas. Nothing more than a white cotton tank top and a pair of flimsy pink shorts. She wasn't cold anymore though, after all the excitement, and having the blood rushing through her body about three times in panic, she was now at a pretty even temperature.

Not that it mattered. She had bigger things to worry about than whether or not she was comfortable. She needed to calm down so she could assess her situation better. Surely things would make more sense then.

She whined and let her head hit the table. Who was she kidding? She was royally fu–

There was a noise behind her. Like the rustling of clothes.

_ She wasn't alone after all. _ Thrill and a little fear crept along her spine as she silently grabbed a stake behind the library counter and stalked up the stairs.

Another noise – inaudible mumbling? After the second bookshelf she found the source.

She glared down at the peroxide pest, blood suddenly boiling in anger. He was lying sprawled on a couple of books, reeking of alcohol. It was a miracle she hadn't smelled him until now. 

Of course Spike had something to do with this. Like siding with Adam hadn't been bad enough. Now he'd done, whatever the hell this was, to her as well? Enough’s enough! It was time he met the stake. Chipped or not, he was obviously still a danger to humanity. And to her sanity.

“Spike.” She said through clenched teeth.

No response.

“Fine, you know what? I am not beneath killing you in your sleep at this point.” She said, punctuating the word ‘point’ with a swift kick to the ribs.

That got a groan at least.

She kicked him again, much harder and in the stomach this time. That made him roll to the side and clutch it with a cry of pain.

_ Success. The evil undead was rising. _

“Fuck. Bloody hell, can't a man get wasted and pass out for a few hours anymore?”

“First off, you are  _ not  _ a man. Second, what the  _ hell _ have you done, Spike?”

That made him turn his head and squint up at her. “Slayer?”

“Yes, it's me, the person you insist on tormenting. Now, tell me what I'm doing here before I dust you. And I am  _ really _ not in the mood for any games so get straight to it.” She said, clutching her stake harder, almost crushing it.

But he just started laughing, almost hysterically.

“Spike, I mean it.”

“You. You think _ I'm _ the one tormenting _ you? _ ” He struggled into a sitting position before continuing: “You've done nothing but ruin my plans from day one, you –” he stopped, looking around. “Where the hell are we anyway?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by the wonderful Dactylgirl.
> 
> This chapter begins with a quote from 4x13 The I In Team.

 

**_“Thinking about your affliction and, uh, your new-found discovery that you can fight only demons; it occurs to me that, and I realize this is completely against your nature but, has it occurred to you that there may be a higher purpose?”_ **

 

Spike walked through the cemetery on his way home from a long night at Willy's. Well, if you could call just about staying upright while stumbling in a very general direction walking. After the whole Initiative disaster he thought he'd get good and proper pissed. And at least he'd managed to do that right. Now that he seemed to be stuck with this sodding chip in his brain, he might as well drink a few nights away. Or possibly weeks.

“Slayer,” he slurred, bitterly.

He ‘walked’ a few more steps before stopping. Wobbling, he tried to kick a headstone in frustration, but managed to fall over it instead, landing on the other side with a mouth full of earth.

“Always the bloody _slayer!_ ” he added, spitting dirt.

Rolling onto his back, he was met by the sight of a dark shape.

“Well, well, what do we have here? Another beastie, is it? You should know that I kill your kind now,” he said, with more confidence than a vampire in his state probably should. But if Spike had learned anything during his long time on this rotten planet, it was that the more confidence you had the better. Fake or not. ‘Cause either they thought you were as capable as you made yourself out to be, or just insane. Didn't matter which really, they'd respect you just the same.

“I'm not here to kill you, vampire,” it wheezed, in a voice so scratchy it made Spike wince. Whatever this thing was, it needed to lay off the smoking.

Spike started to push himself upright. “Yeah? Well, I can't say the same for you.”

After a few attempts he made it to his feet, balling his fists. He furrowed his brow as he studied the creature more closely, but he couldn't make it out. The cemetery was dark, sure, but he should be able to see a face from this distance. But it was just … dark. Like a shadow.

It moved closer to him and the air grew colder with every step.

“Not that it matters, but what are you anyway?”

It laughed, a noise that threatened to make his ears bleed if it didn't stop soon. “No, it doesn't matter, vampire. All that matters is that I need you to get home. _Sooner_ rather than _later_. Because as I hear it, you know a thing or two about killing slayers. Maybe you can help me out.”

Spike scoffed. “Bloody right I do! Bagged myself two slayers.” He paused, his features darkening before he continued. “But you stay the hell away from this one, she's _my_ kill. And I'm gonna do it you know, no matter what Dru says. I am gonna snap the bird’s neck like a twig and, and –” He broke off with a growl and actually did manage to kick the headstone this time. It fell over with a thud, ripping some grass bedding up with it.

“Ah, you're perfect.” The creature hissed out, sounding far too satisfied for Spike’s comfort.

He fidgeted, then opened his coat to look for some smokes. “And what if I'm not up for this little plan of –” he said before looking up, but the shadow creature was gone. “– yours.”

He lit his smoke and shook himself. He was too drunk for this. He also wasn't too happy about someone else trying to make plans for him, no one but him did that. And once he'd slept off most of the whiskey, he'd go out and beat the shadow beastie into a bloody mess.

It took him a long time, but after a few more falls he stumbled into his crypt, slamming the door behind him with more force than necessary. He clearly wasn't getting down the ladder tonight, so the armchair would have to do. With a final grunt he settled in and passed out cold.

  
  


_Coldness. Like creepy, crawly little bugs, it made its way up his spine._

_The soft blue light above fading into nothing, darkness pressing on._

_Sinking, sinking. Deeper, and deeper. Darkness conquered._

_He struggled – useless. Kicking out – powerless. Reaching for light – hopeless._

_Drowning._

_An icy hand slithered up his neck and into his hair, grabbing it, yanking his head to the side. A chilling breath whispering into his ear: “Tick, tock, vampire.”_

_It snickered, nails playing on his scalp. “You were meant for much greater things than this. And I am giving you a chance to achieve it. To break free.” Yanking his head to an even more awkward angle, it hissed on.“But you have to make the right choice. Before it's made for you.”_

  
  


As someone who had woken up on fire more than a few times in his life, you would’ve thought he'd be pretty decent at handling a rough morning by now. Sadly, this wasn't the case for Spike. And while this was far from his worst morning ever, it wasn't exactly a picnic.

He was lying on what must have been rocks, head pounding, dirt in his mouth, and something was kicking him unusually hard. _Guess the beastie came back earlier than expected, looking for a fight._

Another kick, harder than the last one, making his insides scream. “Fuck. Bloody hell, can't a man get wasted and pass out for a few hours anymore?”

She spoke, in a voice that was all too familiar. “First off, you are _not_ a man. Secondly, what the _hell_ have you done, Spike?”

Even though his whole body was fighting it, he turned his head to look at her and pushed his eyelids open. “Slayer?”

“Yes, it’s me, the person you insist on tormenting. Now, tell me what I'm doing here before I dust you. And I am _really_ not in the mood for any games so get straight to it.” She was fuming, but all he could do was laugh. Her entire existence was a sick, twisted joke the universe was playing on him. “Spike, I mean it.”

“You. You think _I'm_ the one tormenting _you?_ ” he said, struggling into a sitting position. “You've done nothing but ruin my plans from day one, you –” he stopped, looking around. “Where the hell are we anyway?” Sort of looked like the Slayerette’s old school library. He must still be pretty wasted then.

“That’s it.” She pulled him up by the lapels and slammed him into one of the shelves facing the wall, with enough force to make a bunch of books clatter to the floor. _Fuck, that hurt._ “You tell me what is going on, right now.” A stake was suddenly pressed over his heart. “What kind of spell is this? What evil have you been stupid enough to align yourself with this time? And really? You couldn't even wait a full 24 hours before striking up another axis of idiocy?”

He met her steely gaze with a dark one.

“That’s an awful lot of questions, Slayer. Big ones too, think someone as intellectually impaired as me can manage answering them all?” The pressure from the stake increased. “ALRIGHT! Alright! Don't get your knickers all in a bunch, I'm just messin’ with you. You make it too easy anyway.”

She shook him. “Spike!” She actually looked panicked. That was new, and not very comforting. Anything that had the almighty Slayer in a panic had to be pretty bad.

He shook himself mentally too, remembering the shadow demon from last night. If only he could recall exactly what it had said, and what was that weird dream all about? More importantly, what could he tell her right now to avoid getting staked?

Putting on a serious expression, he tried to explain himself. “Whatever you think I've done, I haven't. But I might know who did.”

She pierced him with a furious stare for a few moments before letting go of his coat. He would have collapsed back to the floor if he hadn’t had the shelf supporting him. “Fine. Go on.”

He noted the hole ripped in his shirt from her stake, and the fact that she had drawn blood, confirming that this really was serious. “Last night, when I was making my way home after drowning my sorrows, I ran into a demon of sorts. But all I could see was a shadow.”

“Shadow? Like the silhouette of a woman?”

“There wasn’t exactly anything feminine about this thing. And no, it was just … darkness. As if it repelled light or something.”

“Oh.” She said, frowning.

“I was pretty far gone, but I recall it talking about you, pet. It wanted you gone.” She crossed her arms, which brought his attention to her body. My, my, she wasn't wearing much of anything, was she?

“And as I recall, so do you.”

“Does it matter?” He pointed to his head. “Chipped. Can't lay a hand on you. Whatever plan this creature wanted my help with backfired.”

She studied his face one last time, then turned on her heel with an irritated noise.

“Hey, wait up, where are we anyway?” He pushed himself off the shelf and followed her through the bookshelves and down a pair of stairs. So they really were in the old school library. Imagine that. “Color me impressed. They really restored this thing fast, didn't they?”

The Slayer had propped herself in a chair, face in her hands on the table. “We're not really here, Spike. Or we are, and the school isn't. Look, I don't know what's going on so unless you have some more concrete answers, shut up and let me think.”

Spike shrugged, figuring he'd get back to it once he’d sobered up a bit more. Instead he took a look around, his attention snapping to the windows. Familiarity washed over him, and not in a pleasant sense.

“This some sort of trap then?”

There must have been something in his voice that gave away his unease, because she followed his gaze to the window.

“Come,” was all she said as she stood to exit the library.

He didn't keep track of where she was leading him, being too busy staring out every window they passed. After one last turn down a corridor, he could see the school entrance up ahead, the same darkness looming behind the glass doors.

Buffy slowed to walk beside him as he stalked closer to them.

The air got thicker, pressing. _Colder_. So the dream was connected to this after all.

Could it be that the shadow demon had devised some way for him to dispose of the Slayer? Was this some sort of trial? And what had it meant by ‘break free’? Would it remove his chip? It was possible that Spike was being overly optimistic, but seeing that he had been about to spend the next few weeks in a drunken stupor and bored out of his mind, he'd take it.

Feeling Buffy's eyes on him, he suppressed a smile and met her gaze.

_Well, this could be interesting._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Dactylgirl. What would I do without your beta skills?
> 
> This chapter begins with a quote from 2x21 Becoming Part One

 

**_"I don't have a destiny. I'm destiny-free. Really."_ **

 

It had been nearly five years since Buffy's life was flipped upside down, to be changed irreversibly. Before that her life had mostly consisted of gossip, cheering, fashion, and boys. And back then those things had seemed so hard to manage. To be at the top of the social ladder was like perfecting an art, and took a lot of effort and work to maintain. In retrospect, it had been a blissful dream. It had taken a long time for her to accept that she'd never live that dream again. She still searched for normal, of course. But she knew it wasn't for her. It was like a guilty pleasure, something she fantasized about, and got to have in small doses. _Very_ small doses.

Now she was _The Slayer_. A title that evoked fear in evil creatures of the night. Well, most evil creatures anyway.

“So, Slayer. We're just gonna stand and stare at this thing all day then? I'm not the all-knowing Chosen One, but it's not the most effective plan, I reckon.”

They'd been standing in silence, staring out into the void for a couple of minutes. If he hadn't smelled like a whiskey factory, or what she imagined a whiskey factory would smell like, she’d have forgotten he was there altogether.

With a long sigh she turned to him. “What else did the demon say?”

His gaze traveled over her body for a moment before he replied, making her uncomfortably aware of her clothing situation – and was he leering?

“Not much, it wanted me to help take you out, but it never shared the 'how' part of that equation. And stop frowning, pet. Chits wearing as little as you are look much better with a smile.”

Definitely leering.

 _And you look much better on the floor,_ she told herself as Spike slid across the polished linoleum, hitting a wall. “You know, Spike, I'm not exactly convinced that you aren't involved in this. So stop being your disgusting self and help me solve this, or I might just decide you're not worth the trouble anymore.”

Pulling himself back to his feet, he dabbed his now bleeding nose with the back of his hand. “Only ‘cause you asked so politely.” The words basically dripping with resentment.

 _Incredible._ “Why are you like this? Aargh! Never mind! Let's stay _far_ away from that topic or we'll be here forever.”

He scoffed. “Alright, let's hear it then. What's this big plan of yours?”

She pursed her lips. _Good question._ Not that she'd ever let him know that. “We should check the whole school out, there might be an exit we can use, or some clues at least. And who knows? Maybe I'll get really lucky and find whoever is responsible for this.” Turning to march down the corridor, she muttered: “I'd sure like to get my hands on them right about now.”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” came from behind, followed by the unmistakable sound of Spike's boots as he fell in at her back.

Yes, nearly five years ago Buffy's life had changed. And since then it had been a series of sacrifices, some of which were relatively small, like not having time for any hobbies, having to constantly replace her wardrobe, or living with a secret identity. But others were bigger. Harder. Such as putting everyone she loved in mortal danger, sending her first love to hell.

Knowing she'd never grow old.

But no matter how cruel her fate was, all those sacrifices had made some sort of sense at least, in the grand scheme of things. She knew they were for the greater good, she knew the world rested on her shoulders. They also made her fight extra hard to keep the few things, and the few people, she still hadn't been forced to say goodbye to. So when it came to new challenges that gave her nothing to fight, and made even less sense than French class, Buffy did not have a very long fuse. It didn’t help that she was teamed with the one _thing_ that knew exactly how to burn through that fuse in record time.

They'd checked all the exits she could think of without any luck, and cleared most of the classrooms on the first level when Buffy's already tried patience reached its last leg. Which is probably why she kicked down the door to the cafeteria when they got there.

“If you're trying to kill a slayer, maybe you should throw something at her that might actually, you know, _kill_ her. Instead I'm stuck with a pathetic excuse for a vampire –”

“Hey!”

“– in what seems to be an empty, pretend, building.”

Knowing that she'd just end up arguing with Spike again if she did, Buffy didn't stop walking. She didn't have time for that right now. Instead she marched through the cafeteria and focused on her mission: to get out of this place and get some answers. Quickly. ‘Cause everything about this gave her some serious creeps.

However, her determined attitude faltered when she barged into the kitchen. She stopped dead in her tracks and just stared.

“I see the stick up that righteous bottom of yours has taken up permanent residence then!” Spike’s voice echoed through the cafeteria as he stomped his way to the kitchen. Cursing, a crash – probably from smashing a chair or something.

She felt the air rush up behind her as the kitchen door was forcefully flung open. He was clearly in desperate need of more verbal abuse. Or possibly physical. But she was too busy taking in the scene before her.

The kitchen was overflowing with food. Crates, and crates of it. She started inspecting the crates closest to her and found breakfast bars, cereals, and every kind of snack imaginable. None of that icky knockoff stuff the school usually had either, but the real, name brand, deal.

After a few moments she noticed Spike had gone uncharacteristically quiet. She looked up from a crate of dried fruit to find him staring into one of the large kitchen fridges. He looked pale. Well, paler than usual.

“What?”

No answer.

Rolling her eyes she went over to look for herself.

Rows, and rows of neatly stacked bags of _blood_.

She swallowed audibly.

Whatever this trap was, it was clear they wanted her – and Spike for some unknown reason that she would revisit at a later time – to stick around for a very long time. If the amount of food hadn't made that obvious, the massive amounts of blood sure as hell did.

Her brain put the puzzle pieces together quickly; they weren't trying to kill the Slayer, they were trying to put her out of commission. Which meant that whatever their plan was, it involved keeping her far away from it. Her brain wandered back to _The Dream_ , and how everyone she held dear was featured in it.

She had to force herself to not go completely catatonic.

Buffy had always comforted herself with the thought that she was part of some bigger plan. That everything she had to do was for the protection of innocent people. And more importantly – the people she loved. So, if she was stuck here, with nothing to fight, with a creature she loathed, and completely unable to help, or even warn, her family and friends about something that might kill them all ...

Then what was all this destiny crap about anyway?

 

***

 

Spike had been growing increasingly annoyed as they failed to find much of anything in the school. Whatever he thought the shadow demon had wanted his help with in order to kill her, it never occurred to him that it might be such a lengthy process. All the blood in these fridges proved otherwise. He could live on this for several months, possibly a year. The thought of being caged in here for that long made him twitch. It was bad enough he had this chip in his head making him feel trapped already. And this sure as hell wasn't what he signed up for. Not that he'd actually signed up for anything, the demon hadn't given him a bloody choice, had it?

Although maybe a couple of months in here wasn't such a bad trade for possibly being rid of the chip. If only he knew more about the plan, in particular the little matter of where he fit into it.

Spike leaned against one of the industrial sized fridges, watching the slayer pace a hole through the tiled floor. Tap tap, tap tap, turn. Tap tap, pause … tap tap, turn.

At least watching her was offering a distraction. Problem was it wasn't exactly helping with his frustrations.

Every step she took made something move deliciously. Drawing his attention to everything from that ridiculously bouncy hair, to the slight jiggle of those perky tits, and the steady pulse on her long, slender neck.

He felt like an animal having a piece of  meat paraded in front of him, daring him to take it and lose himself in the feast. And knowing it was out of reach somehow made the show even more hypnotic. It was a good thing she was too busy to notice him, because the longer he stared the more he saw. Like the the fact that he could faintly make out the pattern on her knickers through the nearly-sheer fabric of her shorts.

It almost had him in game face, ready to launch.

It also reminded him a lot of the first time he saw her. Dancing for him. She hadn’t been wearing that much more then either. But this felt different, more intimate. And infinitely more frustrating. Because now he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Patting his coat down for some smokes, he could have kissed the box when he felt it in his pocket. He needed to release some tension, and while smoking wasn't his first choice, it wasn’t as if he was overwhelmed with options at the moment.

Lighting one up, he watched it glow brighter as he took a long pull, then let his head fall back on the steel door, relaxing into the exhale.

Buffy paused to scowl at him through the smoke cloud, but didn't comment as she resumed her never-ending pacing.

He almost grinned. The smoking helped some, but not nearly as much as knowing he was annoying her.

“So,” she started, still scowling at him. “If we've been trapped here, we've got to be missing right? So it's only a matter of time before someone comes looking for – well, for _me_ at least.”

“Yeah, if they're not all lying dead already without their precious slayer there to look after them.”

He knew that would get on her nerves, in fact he'd counted on it to do just that. What came as a surprise however, was just how much.

She flung herself at him with a growl, giving him a blow to the eye that knocked the fag right out of his mouth, followed by a knee to his stomach so hard he could feel the steel door behind him buckle slightly. She raised her hand to deliver another punch, but while the slayer got brutal when angry, she also got sloppy.

He saw a chance and took it. Timing it just right, he grabbed her arm, twisting it around to shove her, front first, up against the tiled wall across from them. He'd done it. He'd pinned her without hurting her – without setting off the chip. The only problem now was his growing length pressed up against her warm, tight little ass. Hopefully she was too busy being furious to notice, or he'd be dead when he let her go.

“I may not be able to hurt you, but it would do you good to remember that I'm not exactly helpless either,” he moved his lips over her ear, finishing with: “Sweetheart.”

He knew it was suicidal to play with her right now, but he never could resist.

“Spike.” She gritted out between heavy breaths, “Let me go. Right now.”

He’d just been about to let the infuriating bint go too, but then she wriggled, and he thought he'd snap and go completely loony.

He looked down with dark eyes, watching her chest rise and fall as it was pressed up against the tile. Then his sight fell on her pulse, beating fast and steady on her neck. As if time stopped, he was transfixed, all he could hear was her blood rushing in his ears. It’d been too long since he had it straight from the source, much longer since he had it from a slayer.

Having moved without realizing it, he'd nearly placed his lips over the thumping vein. But turns out lack of concentration made him sloppy too.

Buffy wrenched out of his grip and elbowed him in the gut, right in the same spot as her earlier blow, making him stagger and fall on his ass, then strode over to him and delivered a kick to his head that made him see double. Head lolling, he saw two slayers smiling victoriously before passing out.

_Bitch._

 

***

 

_Jerk._

Buffy had left him lying on the kitchen floor. He’d been lucky she hadn’t left him in the freezer. She had a feeling a Spike-cicle would be easier to deal with than the regular kind.

She stopped, considering turning back and actually dragging him into the freezer. But that would require moving all the frozen food she'd found in there as she'd continued looking through the kitchen once Spike had taken a slayer-induced nap. So, with a lazy shrug, she kept on walking. And at least she felt more relaxed after getting to beat him up some.

She was on her way to the gym locker rooms to see if she still remembered her old locker combination. If she was lucky this trap might be so well made that she’d still have some clothes in there. She always had at least one extra set for after training sessions, and all too often, for demon splatter related reasons. And right now she needed to get changed, stat, cause this walking around half naked with your enemy thing wasn't working out. She could feel his eyes on her. Maybe she'd tell Riley about that when she got back home and have fun watching him kill Spike.

_If Riley's still alive._

No. None of those thoughts. They were all well, and they'd help get her out of here, she knew they would. She just needed to stay positive and focused was all. And even if there was something bad going on in the real world, it wasn’t like her friends weren't capable of handling it. Surely they could avert an apocalypse on their own. Right? She decided that yes, yes they could, because her insides were already twisty enough.

She also had a lot of mixed feelings about being at her old high school again. If you could call a creepy, black magic replica of it that. It was strange, but she had a surprising amount of good memories from this place. Like getting to know Giles, Xander, and Willow. And the late night research parties with a steady flow of donuts weren’t so bad, if you didn’t think about the actual research part of it. So, as much of a literal Hellmouth high school had been, it had become her second home. Things had also seemed so much simpler back then. Because even when things got seriously bad, she still knew how that world worked. Now? Now there were too many unknowns. Such as her current situation.

She peaked her head into the locker room; it was almost pitch black. A bit creepy, but she'd done worse, creepy being her birthright and all.

Fumbling in the dark for a while, and nearly tripping over what seemed to be a pair of gym shoes, she managed to locate the light switch. As she watched the fluorescent lights flicker on with a buzz, she was happy to see that everything was as she remembered, down to the smell of old gym socks. But she wasn't about to complain. If it meant she would be able to cover herself up some, she'd gladly sniff old smelly gym socks.

Buffy frowned, happy she hadn't said that last part out loud. Or that no one was around to hear it for that matter.

After a couple of failed attempts at her locker combination, she gave up and just broke it.

The first thing she pulled out was a black mini skirt. She scoffed and threw it back in. “No.” Like she'd prance around in _that_ in front of Spike.

Underneath lay a towel, gym shorts, some toiletries, gum wrappers, and … A yoyo? She dug through the lot and finally found a pair of jeans. “Bingo.”

Swiftly, she slid out of her shorts and pulled on the jeans. There was also a black cardigan in there and a pair of socks, so she put both on. But there were no shoes.

She threw a glance at the gym shoes she nearly tripped over earlier, and then back at her feet.

When Buffy left the locker room she felt a lot more human than she had before. She'd even applied some makeup, and put her hair up in a simple ponytail. Not that anyone would see her, she just needed to feel more normal if she was going to make it out of here without 1) killing Spike, and 2) having a complete melt down. Although she wasn't too happy about walking around in someone else's footwear. But they didn't smell at least, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Back in the cafeteria, she found Spike sprawled in a chair so obscenely she had to stop herself from staring below his waist. Cause _ew_. He was leaning back with a bag of frozen peas on his head that he removed when he saw her approach.

He also had a cup of steaming water in front of him. Which was odd, but Spike was odd, so.

“Oh wonderful. The Slayer’s back,” he bit out sarcastically.

“I'm not the one sleeping the day way.”

“And who's fault is that?”

“Yours! You were being all, all –” She waved her hand in the general direction of his person.

“All, all, what?”

“You!”

“Oh please! All I did was stop you from having a grand ol' time of ‘beat the Spike’. It's not my bleedin' fault we’re stuck here, you know. You'd think the virtual blood bank in there would prove as much.”

She actually didn't think he’d done this, but he was still part of the plan somehow, which meant going easy on him wasn't an option. “You're right. You didn't have anything to do with this.”

Spike was the picture of smugness. “Apology accepted. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?”

She took the seat across from him before continuing. “There is no way someone like _you_ , could pull off something _this_ elaborate.”

His smugness faded into a scowl.

_Victory._

“So what's up with the water? Too British for coffee?”

With a deepening scowl, he opening his mouth to respond, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again with a sigh. He pointed at the coffee machine instead. “Thing's broken. Kept pressing coffee, cause I gotta have somethin' for this smashing new head injury of mine. But all it's giving me is this.”

“Oh.” She got up, went over to the machine, and came back with a cup of steaming coffee for him a moment later.

“Figures. Your school – of course nothing in it's gonna take my orders.”

“You have to press the hot chocolate for coffee.”

“Ah. Never mind then, it's just the public school system of America living up to it's sparkling reputation.”

She almost laughed, which made her uncomfortably aware of how much this was starting to sound like an actual conversation.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Anyway. We should finish searching the school. Then I thought we would look through some of the spell books I know Giles kept in his office. If we're lucky we might find a way to communicate with the others magically.”

“You really think whatever created this trap of ours was daft enough to leave something like that just laying around?”

“Probably not, but it's worth a try.“

He shrugged, “Your wish, my command, and so on.”

Buffy checked the big cafeteria wall clock. “Also, if time passes normally in here, we've been gone for a couple of hours already. More than enough for my mom to worry.”

Spike followed her gaze. “Oh bloody hell, I'm missing _Passions!_ ”

 

***

 

Giles had been cursing Spike's name ever since he'd been tricked into watching _Passions_ with him. Now he had the urge to waste his time on this mindless excuse for entertainment every day. But he just had to know if Timmy ever got out of the blasted well.

The phone rang. As if he'd been caught red-handed doing something bad, he rushed over to turn the TV off before answering the phone.

“Giles residence!” He cringed at how flustered he sounded.

“Mr. Giles? It's Joyce. I'm so sorry to bother you at this hour.”

“Joyce, hello! No, no bother at all, I assure you. However, is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, to be completely honest. Have you seen Buffy by any chance?”

He sank into his desk chair. “Not since yesterday, I'm afraid.”

“We had made plans for the day, but I thought I'd let her sleep in since you had a big day yesterday. But by noon I checked on her and her bed was empty.”

“Have you talked to Riley? Or Xander and Willow?”

“They haven't seen her either. Oh Rupert, I don't have a good feeling about this. It's been hours.”

He checked his wristwatch, and saw that it was a little past six pm. “I am sure she's well, Joyce. Your daughter is a remarkable women, more than capable of taking care of herself. That said, I know how hard it is to not worry for her safety. Is it possible she simply went out and forgot to leave a note?”

“It's possible, but can you keep an eye out for her?”

“Yes, yes of course. I will let you know as soon as I know anything.”

“Thank you,” Joyce said with a sigh.

After hanging up, Giles removed his glasses and leaned back in his chair.

He had to admit, he didn't have a good feeling about this either.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my wonderful beta, Dactylgirl.
> 
> This chapter begins with a quote from the season 1 intro.

 

**_“In every generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”_ **

 

After several hours of looking through the all-too-few spellbooks she could find in Giles office, the library was a mess. The pile of snacks they'd brought with them from the cafeteria was almost gone and candy wrappers were strewn all over the table, (with a few on the floor next to Spike) amid a sea of empty paper cups, and some new coffee stains.

Spike was so incredibly messy. Although that wasn't very surprising. What was surprising, however, was how much human-friendly food he ate. He'd probably had twice as much as her. Or maybe it just seemed like more due to the mess he made.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

If Giles were here, he'd have gone crazy, being all passive aggressive and British, telling them to stop behaving like ‘bloody animals’. He'd polish his glasses so hard they’d break if he knew she had eaten over his books.

But if Giles were here, he would have figured out what was going on, and with the help of Willow’s witchiness, they'd have gotten out of this mess by now. She sighed. Boy, how she wished her friends were here.

At least she hadn't let Spike smoke in the library. He'd fought her on that point, but she held her ground. Like she didn't have enough things trying to kill her without adding second hand smoking to that list.

Except for right now that was. Right now she had an alarmingly low number of things trying to kill her.

Spike tossed the book he'd been looking through haphazardly to the other side of the table and picked up a new one. “So this is what you have your little groupies for then? Your own worker bees doing all the boring bits.”

She looked up, annoyed. “More reading, less talking.”

“No, no. I get it.”

He was baiting her, she knew it. She just had to put her efforts of ignoring him into overdrive and he’d be bored soon. She could do this. Just ignore the infuriating dead guy across the table.

“Makes sense now is all.” He added after a while.

With a deep sigh Buffy slammed her book shut, and against her better judgment, she took the bait. “They aren't ‘worker bees’. They're my _friends_ , and we're a _team_.”

“Just been trying to suss out what you actually use them for, Slayer. It's a pretty odd match after all. 'The Slayer, and her pals' isn't exactly a statement you hear a lot.”

 _‘Use them for’? Unbelievable_. She shook her head with an incredulous look. “You have no idea what friendship is, do you?”

“I know what friendship is to humans, yeah. But you're not exactly human now are you? You may walk, talk, and do your bloody hair like one, but both you and I know you're not much like them.”

“You don't know anything about me.” Buffy opened the book again and forced her brain to make out the words on the page. Maybe if she focused real hard they’d even form full sentences.

“Right then. You're a perfectly normal human girl who just happens to have superhuman strength, and be the one bird in all the world chosen to fight the forces of evil. Got it.”

Yes, she liked fighting evil. A lot more than listening to it.

She should stop responding, she really should, but he was just being so irritating. “I may have different circumstances than most people, but I am still human. Alive and kicking, which is a lot more than I can say for you.”

“If you say so, pet.” Spikes attention returned to his book, leaving her frowning and wondering what the hell he had meant by, well, any of that.

_Drop it Buffy, drop it, now. You should be happy he shut up in the first place._

“Are you seriously suggesting that I'm as close to being a human as _you_ are?”

_Stupid, stupid Buffy._

He kept his eyes on the book, but a grin touched his lips. “You may have that pesky soul, and my state of the art military chip might detect you as one, but you're still a creature of the night. I wager you spend more time lurking in the shadows than most demons do.”

“I am not much for lurking. I am more for the slaying.”

“Not helping your case, luv.”

“I am not _evil_ , Spike. I'm kind of the opposite.”

He didn't respond. Buffy stared at him in annoyance for several moments before his eyes met hers. He looked oddly haunting with his head still down, the light hitting his face in a way that made his already harsh features even more prominent.

“Then there's your blood,” he continued, ignoring what she had said altogether. “Slayers don't exactly taste human either.”

_This would be a good time to make him stop talking. Possibly throw this massive book at his head._

But she didn't. Not because she was curious about what he had to say. Not at all.

He put down the book and leaned back in his chair. “You see ... one is a necessity. Something to keep you going, make you feel alive and strong. But yours ..." His gaze wandered to her neck, tongue touching the edge of his teeth. “Your kind is –”

“Enough! Just ... shut up, Spike.”

Why had she taken his bait? Nothing good had ever come from taking his bait.

To her surprise, he actually did stay quiet.

She was all too aware that friends didn't come with the usual Slayer package. In fact, she had yet to hear about a single Slayer that’d had friends like she did. Or a boyfriend for that matter. But working as a team to defeat Adam had proven that friends were a huge plus, not only in life, but also in the fight against evil. Which was why Spike suggesting that she ‘used’ them bothered her more than normal. He somehow always knew exactly what would piss her off. And it had to stop.

Without warning, she flung the huge book at his head, making him fall backwards with a yelp. “Blood hell Slayer! What was that for, you crazy bitch?”

She got up and marched around the table to stand over him as he lay on the floor. “Don't say another word about my friends. Got it?”

“Oh, hit a nerve did I?” He got back to his feet in one smooth motion. “You are not like them, and you know it. You can play pretend all you want but it's pretty obvious.” He took a step closer. “Not to mention your all-American soldier boy. Is he more than an attempt at normalcy?”

She needed to calm down, so with great effort she forced her fists to unclench and stopped her lips from twitching in anger.

She knew he was trying to make her fight him, she just didn't know why.

“You've already tried to separate me from my friends, just a few days ago for that matter. So what the hell are you playing at now?” Well, at least the sentence had started calm.

“Oh please, you people did that all to yourselves. I just pointed out the cracks. Not my fault you and your bunch are oblivious.”

This wasn't going anywhere.

“Clean up your mess, Spike,” she said instead of continuing the pointless argument, picked up a couple of books and stormed out of the library. After passing the second corridor she stopped to lean up against a wall and hug her books.

She shouldn't be here. She should be at home in bed, having enjoyed a long day of mom-fun. And possibly a scooby meeting in the evening at Giles’ about _The Dream_. But instead she was stuck here, with a million questions and no answers. She'd never felt this helpless before. Not knowing what was going on in the real world was too much. She was built for action, for fighting, for getting to the bottom of things and setting them right. And the loneliness of not having her team there to help her figure things out was really getting to her.

A tear fell from her cheek and hit one of the book covers. She hurried to dry it off, and wiped down her face with a sleeve.

She had to pull herself together. She already knew she was different from her friends, she knew every remotely normal thing in her life was minimal and temporary. But she loved her friends. They were important to her for so many other reasons apart from her Slayer duties. And what hurt the most right now, was that after months of emotional distance from them, she'd finally started to feel close to them again, only for that to be taken away the very next day. It was heartbreaking and infuriating, and made Spike's efforts to get on her nerves a thousand times more effective.

Speaking of which.

She spotted the pile of cigarette butts in the corner, and looked heavenwards in disapproval. Not just at him, but at herself. If she had any sense, any sense whatsoever, she would have killed him by now. He was never up to any good anyway, and dusting vampires was a very clear part of her job description.

But she was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that she could be stuck here indefinitely. For possibly a very long indefinitely.

And if she killed Spike she would be completely, and utterly, _alone_.

 

***

 

Tara had always shied away from the spotlight, and all the stress that came with it. It was her dislike of the attention, and the peace in the solitude that made her wholeheartedly accept the role as an outsider many years ago. But then she met Willow, and learned that solitude wasn’t the most rewarding state anymore. Tara even found herself genuinely wanting to become comfortable around Willow’s friends. They were all very nice, of course, but as everyone was in Giles’ kitchen, Anya and Tara had been left sitting alone on the sofa. Which led to some awkward silence.

They were quiet for a good two minutes, listening to the others argue in the kitchen about what food to order, before Anya spoke up.

“So, you're a lesbian. What's that like?”

Tara almost choked on her own spit.

“Um, it's, it's,”

Thankfully, she didn't have to get any further into that topic as Xander came in and unceremoniously threw himself on the sofa next to Anya. “Hey good lookin’,”

The others were right on his heels, holding sodas for everyone.

“Shall we get right into it then?” Giles asked, looking grim.

Willow sat down next to Tara and started tracing circles on her back, calming her down infinitely. “So, you haven't heard anything from Buffy either?”

She looked so worried, Tara just wanted to hug her.

“I'm afraid not.” Giles sank into one of the chairs before continuing: “I know we've all been a bit, um, distant for a while, yet I very much doubt she would run away again.”

“I bet it's those government guys.” Xander chimed in, opening his soda with a crack and a pop.

Giles gave a nod. “It's very possible, yes. Riley is currently looking into it as best as he can. But there is more we can do, and I will need your help with that, Willow and Tara.” Tara's palms started to perspire as he continued: “There are two spells I need you to perform, as soon as possible, because I'm afraid they're a bit out of my league. One of them is to make sure she’s alive and well, and the other would be a standard locator spell. I would have called you here sooner than lunch-time today, but I'm afraid I wasn't able to get the supplies until now.”

Willow gave Tara a questioning look and she nodded jerkily in return. It might be hard to be in the spotlight, but this was important. After her confirmation, Willow answered: “We'll do it now.”

“Excellent. Help me clear the area by my desk.”

They spent some time rearranging the furniture, which involved some toe stubbing and cursing. It was obvious that tensions were high. But pretty soon they had everything cleared up and set up all the supplies.

The first spell didn't involve any ingredients, or even a chant, just a circle of blessed stones surrounding the casters.

Willow and Tara took a seat inside the circle and joined hands. With a few slow breaths, both of them closed their eyes and focused, feeling the magic curl up around them. She tried her best to focus on Willow and forget that they were being watched. After a while she relaxed and felt Willow guiding her, and they instantly found what they were looking for. Both of them opened their eyes smiling. “She's alive!” they said in unison.

Around them, everyone let out a very relieved breath. Xander and Giles even hugged each other, before awkwardly breaking apart.

Xander cleared his throat. “Great! Now let's find out where the hell she is.”

The locator spell, however, was a bit more powerful, and a little harder to control.

They prepared a boiling pot and Willow put in the ingredients in the correct order. Taking a seat on the floor next to it, they took each others hands again and read the incantation together.

“Locus amicus, locus abiit,” they repeated three times, until they felt the familiar caress of magic surrounding them.

But after a few moments the caress turned cold; something was wrong. She tried to pull away, but Willow stubbornly held her there. The power was become more volatile with each second, growing darker and stormy. It was too much. Too much darkness, too much pressure. She felt like she was about to be torn in half.

With a cry Willow let go, and they were flying backwards. Tara hit the back of the sofa and heard a _bang_. She looked up to see the boiling pot bellowing smoke.

Willow had been shot to the other side of the room, but was already getting back on her feet.

“Tara!” Flustered, she ran over to Tara's side. The others were also getting back up, looking shaken.

Giles picked up his glasses off the floor. “My God. Is everyone alright?”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Anya coughed, wiping down her skirt.

Willow shook her head frantically, hugging Tara. “No! Something’s wrong, something is, is – she's being hidden by something. Something _big_ , and _evil_.”

The doorbell rang and a muffled yell came from the other side of the door.

“Pizza delivery!”

Everyone looked at each other, blinking.

 

***

 

Spike awoke with a groan. He'd nodded off by the table last night after the Slayer had stormed off in all her blazing fury. Who would have thought magic books could be such an overwritten snooze. The majority of them were on different type of translations, identifications, and all that sod. You'd think there at least be _some_ remotely fun spells in these. Like making fireballs, or summon up some beasties to fight – something simple like that. So far the most interesting thing he’d found was a segment on transforming minerals to a different kind of mineral. Which spoke volumes about the contents of these books.

Mind numbing literature aside, he really had to try and control himself with the Slayer. He couldn't keep brassing her off like this, or he wouldn't be around to see next week. But he was severely lacking in entertainment, and watching her lose her temper was by far the most thrilling thing around. Either way, it was a horrible idea, and it would get him dusted. He knew it. He'd just have to find some other pastime.

He stretched and stood, watching the candy wrappers from his lap fall to the floor.

 _“Clean up your mess, Spike.”_ He repeated the Slayers words from last night in a high pitched, mocking tone.

Even though he knew he should probably do what she said, so as to gain some brownie points with her. If nothing else it might delay his dusting. But since giving into her demands without putting up a fight was going against his very nature, he couldn't help but clench his jaw tightly for a moment before kneeling, picking up the trash, and dumping it in the bin. He even went so far as to tidy up the books, and wipe down the table top with a couple of napkins.

“There. Can't complain now, can you, bitch?” he huffed, and headed out of the library, making his way to the cafeteria to have himself an exaggerated amount of blood, in hopes of finding the strength to not piss off the Slayer further. On his way there, he looked for any sign of the chit, but there was none. She'd surely hid away somewhere less obvious to get an uninterrupted night of sleep.

After savagely draining two blood bags, he thought he'd rip some lockers open to see if he could find something else to occupy himself with. Hopefully some more smokes too, ‘cause he was already running low. If nothing else, destroying public property should calm him some. Even if it most likely was pretend public property.

He hummed his way down the corridors, but stopped when he reached the locker room doors. Tilting his head, he eyed them with curiosity.

Spike didn't get to take hot showers all too often anymore, mostly because of his recently acquired military knick knack. And he did scratch some dirt out of his hair before …

He shrugged. Not like he had anything better to do 'til the slayer came around again. He put his hand on the door to the boys room, but changed his mind with a smug expression and pushed open the girls one instead. He knew it wasn't much of a rebellious act, but desperate times and so on.

The lights were flickering in one of the corners, and it smelled like feet, but looked clean enough. He strolled down each row of lockers, humming resumed until he spotted an open door. Raising a brow he walked up to it, peeking inside, then reached in to retrieve a little black skirt. He didn't need to sniff it to know it was hers. The whole locker reeked of the chosen bird. Grinning profusely, he tossed it back inside and looked through the rest of the things, eventually pulling out a towel.

The temptation to use it just to piss her off was nearly overwhelming, but with great effort he tossed it back inside.

Fuck, he hated feeling this domesticated, made him itch for a fight. Or possibly a fuck. Instead he tore open the another locker a few steps over, and was greeted by a unicorn poster, and a mirror decorated with little hearts and the name “Harmony” in pink letters.

Of bloody course. Seemed he couldn't escape any infuriating bints in this hell hole.

He slammed the door shut without looking through it, and tore the next locker open. Thankfully, there was a towel hanging there, and a bag with some shower necessities.

Shrugging out of his duster, he kept his eye on the Slayers locker.

Once again the feeling of strange intimacy came over him. It was fascinating to be in a place where she'd undressed countless times, defenses down. He'd expected the thought to excite him, which sure it did, but a fleeting feeling of intrusiveness came along with it, and had him questioning if he should go to the lads locker room after all. If for no other reason to avoid the slayers wrath if she ever found out he'd been in here.

Spike shook himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He was William the Bloody, for fuck’s sake. William the Bloody don't feel 'intrusive'.

Grabbing the towel he pushed his thoughts aside and took his damn shower.

Maybe having a shower to relax hadn’t been such a good idea, he was more frustrated than ever.

 

***

 

Last night Buffy had gone to the gym in order to get away from her stinky cell mate. She'd pulled out one of the landing mats and found a pile of “Go Razorbacks” T-shirts that made a great pillow, and draped a few of them over her to keep warm. She'd tried reading more but that had only acted as a sedative, and she'd fallen asleep holding a book that she thought contained nothing but more translation spells.

It was probably a good thing the reading had knocked her out, because sleeping in a room as big as the school gym was a bit creepy. But she’d ended up sleeping surprising well. The good rest had melted away the worst of her frustrations, and had her actually _smiling_ as she collected the books. She felt relaxed and rejuvenated, ready to take on the day – and the blood sucking fiend – with renewed patience.

Yes – the research was daunting. But all hope wasn't lost. They still had about half the magic books to go through. And even if that turned out to be fruitless they could still look up possible shadow and silhouette-like demons.

She just needed to keep a level head was all. No matter what Spike did.

With a yawn she pushed the locker room open, and was instantly greeted by the sight of a completely naked, dripping wet, vampire back.

Toweling off his hair, he stopped as he heard her enter, turning slightly to look at her over his shoulder.

She heard the books she'd been holding hit the floor with a loud thud, but was frozen in place, taking in every detail whether she wanted to or not. She simply couldn't force her eyes to look away. _Stupid, stupid eyes._

His gaze fell on the books by her feet, then flicked up to her with a wicked smile.

The bastard began to turn towards her, so she squeaked and slammed the door shut before she could see _more_ of him.

Noticing her mouth was hanging open, she snapped it shut, and speed walked to exit the gym through the main entrance, then all but ran to the nearest bathroom.

Panting slightly, she turned on the water and splashed her face a few times before meeting her reflection’s eyes.

She was blushing. She'd seen Spike naked, and now she was blushing. And he'd probably seen it too if his stupid expression had told her anything.

Buffy groaned and grabbed a few paper towels to dry her face off.

Evil things were just not supposed to look like that – all, all, hard, and smooth, and ripply.

He'd looked so different with his hair all wet and messy too. More human somehow. More like a man. She'd watched a droplet follow the shape of his shoulder blade, down the shifting muscles of his back, to meet his …

“Oh God,” she whined, and covered her burning face with her hands.

She wanted to crawl into her brain and rip out the images that were attacking her senses. And she was _horrified_ by the way her stupid, treacherous, body was responding to them. She couldn't seem to get it under control. No matter how hard she willed it to cool down, or for her heartbeat to slow.

“ _Oh God,_ ” she repeated, muffled by her hands.

Imagine if she'd stayed just a moment longer and – _NO! No imagining ANYTHING!_ Spike was an evil, disgusting, _thing._ Not a man.

She went into a stall and sank down on the seat. After taking several deep breaths, she managed to calm down somewhat.

Maybe being completely alone wouldn't be so bad after all.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Dactylgirl, my suffer-buddy and pineapple-loving beta.
> 
> This chapter begins with a quote from 2x03 School Hard.

 

**_“Home, sweet home.”_ **

 

He was a dead man.

This is how he’d go out. Not in some grand fight, not in some gloriously stupid adventure, but at the hands of a completely barmy Slayer, decapitating him while he couldn’t do a thing to stop her. He was trapped like an animal ready for slaughter, and he couldn't even kick the butcher and make a run for it, like those stories you’d hear sometimes.

He dressed in a hurry and began pacing, repeatedly dragging his fingers through his wet hair.

“Fuck!” He kicked a locker, rattling the entire row.

He should have been a good boy and gone to the other locker room. He’d cocked up too badly this time. Pushed her too far, too many times. At the very least he should have covered himself when he noticed her. But her eyes had gone so comically wide in shock, and that rosy blush painting her cheeks was too bloody delectable.

Feeling a treacherous grin touch his mouth at the thought, he kicked the locker again, until the door creaked and bent. What was it about the damn chit that made his self control fly straight out the window? Not that he had a lot of it under normal circumstances, he usually just did whatever damn well pleased him. But this Slayer had him acting like a fucking idiot when he needed to worry about self preservation for once.

He needed some sort of strategy, and he needed it fast, before she burst back in there to finish him off.

Only she didn't.

Five minutes became fifteen, fifteen became thirty, and his chaotic thoughts turned calculating.

After nearly forty minutes he sat down on a bench and lit what turned out to be his last smoke, then threw the empty pack heatedly in the corner.

She hadn't come to end him, so the million dollar question was; why? Maybe she was waiting for him on the other side of that door, so she wouldn't have to catch another show. 

“Screw it.” He wasn't gonna find out by sitting passively waiting like some ponce. Yeah, there might be a stake with his name on it in the hallway, but what the hell could he do about it in here?

He took a few long pulls on his smoke and snuffed it out with a boot, stretched his neck, and pushed the door open slowly.

Besides the gentle hum of the air conditioning, he was met by complete silence. 

He took a few wary steps outside and looked around. Still no sign of any Slayer – barmy or otherwise. He knitted his brows and let out a snort.  _ What the hell was she up to then? _

Carefully, he walked back to the library, ready for attack at every corner. Feeling like prey instead of the hunter was possibly his least favorite feeling in the world. It was bloody unnatural.

With the last turn behind him, he stalked up to the library door, peeking inside through the round windows. 

There she was, hiding her face behind a massive book, and his curling grin returned with a vengeance. 

Was the big bad Slayer  _ embarrassed _ ? 

This was just too good – which was very bad, ‘cause he desperately needed to leash his urge to mess with her further. 

This might just prove to be nearly impossible.

He took a deep breath and forced the grin off his face, then casually sauntered into the library. 

She didn't look up from the protection of her book, but she tensed visibly. And as he pulled out the chair across from her and took a seat, her fingers went white from gripping the book edges.

Fuck this was unbearable. But he had to focus on behaving if he was to have any hope of making it out of this alive. But Christ, he wanted nothing more than to tease her, to yank the bloody book out of her hands and see more of that innocent blush. 

Mostly he wanted to ask her if she'd seen anything interesting lately. 

At this rate it was only a matter of time before he'd lose his marbles from all the instincts he was suppressing.

He couldn't take it anymore. He felt a laugh creep up his throat and he was powerless to stop it.

A low chuckle filled the room, but to his surprise she was unmoved.

_ Maybe he'd survive this after all.  _ And with that thought her book slammed the table with such force it’d probably have broken his hand if it was just a couple inches to the left. Yet he couldn't stop his chuckling. 

Never mind then _ – now _ he was dead.

She was just too much. Chest heaving, blushing profusely, and staring daggers at him. How was he supposed to resist?

“Look at you, love. You're all flustered from seeing little ol' me.” She was a hair’s breadth from snapping, he knew it. So naturally he kept pushing. “Or more accurately,  _ big _ –”

She interrupted him, her voice so filled with authority it made him pause. “I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you.” Then she threw a book at his chest, where he caught it clumsily. “You are my  _ very _ unfortunate cell mate right now, and since I currently don't know if I’m gonna need your help with anything to get out of here – you are still alive. But don't for a  _ second _ think I am above tying you up, gagging you, and stuffing you in a locker until that time arrives. Understood?”

_ Kinky. _

His jaw worked for a moment before giving her a curt nod.

“Good. Now  _ you _ read. These books are making me fall asleep.” She pushed out her chair. “And stay the hell out of the girls locker room, you creep.” 

Then she was gone, the library doors swinging behind her.

Spike looked down at the book she'd thrown at him, then sent it flying over the railing. He hadn't been bossed around this much since Angel reigned. And once that was over he’d promised himself to never stoop so low again. Yet here he was, the Slayer’s bitch.

Clenching his jaw so tight it hurt, he stood to collect the book and read the damned thing.

It took one mind-numbing hour of foot-tapping – and nearly tearing the pages out and tossing them around like confetti – before he couldn’t take it anymore. So, throwing the book aside, he strode out of the library to rip open some lockers.

 

***

 

Mind blank, she became her breathing, she became the sound of her shoes slapping the gym floor, echoing off the walls. Because in this moment that was all there was. She let all her thoughts melt away into nothingness. All her worries, all her fears, but most of all – her frustrations.

She felt a sweat droplet run down the side of her face. She wiped it off swiftly, trying not to think about the droplets running down a certain vampire. Her brows furrowed as she pushed the thought aside again, making her run faster. 

She didn't know how long she'd been running circles around the gym, but she needed to burn off some serious steam, which running had always been great for. So she'd slipped into one of the gazillion “Go Razorbacks” shirts currently available to her, and the lone pair of gym shorts, then began running. Of course, what she actually needed was to get the hell out of here and go patrolling. Instead she was running circles in her blown up high school gym, trying to empty her mind of disturbing thoughts regarding a very naked, very wet Spike. As if her life wasn't bizarre enough. 

A crash echoed through the gym.

She came to a stop, and a second later, there was another crash followed by screeching metal that made her wince.

_ Creak, bang, crash. _

She left the gym to follow the sound, half running, half walking.

At the second hallway, she was met with several bent locker doors hanging open, school supplies strewn all over the floor and in random piles. Spike was muttering profanities, head deep into one of the lockers, tossing things over his shoulder. A book hit the row of lockers behind him with a reverberating clang. 

“Fucking bossy bint.” he muttered, obviously unaware of her presence.

Buffy folded her arms, waiting.

“Think she's better than everyone.” He slammed the door shut, leaving it dangling from one hinge and then spotted her. The second they locked eyes, he got the look of a boy who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

_ Good. _

“What do you think you're doing?”

He gave a quick laugh. “Trying to find some bloody smokes but apparently your classmates were all preppy little goody two-shoes bitches like yourself. And yeah, I called you a bitch. Lock me in one of these for all I care. Can't  _ possibly _ be any worse than this.” He said, finishing by ripping the next locker open, savagely rummaging through that one as well.

Buffy took a deep breath. “Fine. Whatever.” She'd spent too long trying to calm down to get into another fight now.

She was about to turn and walk away, but he was too quick with a retort. “Oh, 'whatever' is it? Hour ago you were pretty insistent on bossin’ me around. Just more empty threats then?”

“So you  _ want _ to be bound, gagged, and stored in a locker indefinitely?”

He picked up a hairbrush and gestured with it as he spoke. “Does it matter? If your track record of threats has taught me anything, it's that whatever comes out of that bossy mouth of yours isn’t very likely to happen. We’re more likely to figure this trap out before your overdue ass perishes, being a slayer and  all. How long do they usually live again, six months is it? A year? You should be long dead.” He punctuated his last words by tossing the brush back in the locker.

She felt the anger bubbling up at her core again, so she pushed him. “Shut up!”

The push made something gleam in his eyes, spurring her on, daring her to continue.

“Shut me up then.”

She wanted nothing more than to shut him up, make him stop putting her fears into words. 

He began backing up, arms out. “Here kitty, kitty. Come and get it.”

Buffy caught up with him and took a swing, but he sidestepped it with a laugh.

“What's the matter Slayer, losing your touch?”

She threw another punch, this one connecting with a wicked crack. But he looked so satisfied, like he’d wanted her to hit him all along. As if he enjoyed it. Which only made her angrier.

“There you go. Knew you wanted to get your hands on me after you caught the show.”

“I hate you.”

“Feelin’s mutual, love.”

Spike kept backing up. She followed. But the pace increased, and she was too enraged and overwhelmed, all she wanted to do was launch and attack him with everything she had. That’s when she felt the tears sting behind her eyes. It was either fight or cry.

So she fought.

“I  _ hate _ your stupid,” _ push _ “bleached,”  _ punch, kick  _ “inflated, head!” She gave him one final, brutal shove, then realized what he was about to collide with. 

They'd been making their way down the hallway, right up to the main entrance glass doors. And she'd been too furious to notice she had just shoved him  _ straight into them _ .

Everything slowed. She watched him whip backwards, utterly unaware that he was in the middle of being flung through glass and straight into the black abyss.

With what she could only explain as slayer reflexes, she got a hold of his arms. But it was too late, he'd already connected. The blood drained from her face as panic set in, and she tugged on him with all her strength. Which sent him flying back into her instead, knocking her off her feet, sliding away from the door, covered in vampire.

Looking over his shoulder, she saw the glass wobbling – but it was still intact. And she was about to be very,  _ very _ grateful and relieved by that fact, when what sounded like a stampede rattled the building. The shaking increased, and dust fell all around them, while some of the remnants of Spike’s scavenging toppled out of the open lockers. All of which made Spike press closer, or maybe she was holding him closer – she wasn’t too keen to worry about the details right then.

The shaking came to a stop and the locker door that had been hanging by its hinges clattered to the floor. 

And then there was silence, aside from their labored breathing.

It finally registered that she was nestled in the crook of Spike's neck, his arm protecting her head, with her fingers were fisted in his shirt.

Had he ... shielded her? It couldn't have been intentional. 

Right?

Buffy swallowed.

After what felt like an eternity, he raised his head and looked down at her. He looked terrified.

“Thanks.” He said, voice unsteady.

Apparently whatever was holding them captive  _ really _ didn't like the idea of them even attempting to leave.

After several moments of just staring at each other, trying to get their nerves under control, his gaze dropped to her mouth. And with a frown, hers fell to his parted lips as well, making her recall all too vividly what they had felt like on hers when Willow’s spell-mishap had had them betrothed a few months ago. 

And now he was so close. Too close.

“Get off me,” she breathed.

His eyes shot back to hers, as if he just remembered what he was doing. “Right,” he said and scrambled off her to prop himself against the row of lockers.

Buffy sat up as well. What the hell was she doing? She never lost her temper like that. She wasn't acting like herself  _ at all _ , and it was beginning to seriously scare her. 

She took a deep breath before she spoke.“Look, it hasn't even been two full days and I can barely stop myself from killing you. Or  _ us _ apparently. Whatever this thing is, it's powerful, and we have no idea how long we're going to be here. In the meantime we  _ have to _ find some way to coexist.”

Even though he looked as shaken as she felt, she'd expected him to argue. But instead he nodded. “Yeah.” Spike got to his feet and shook off the dust that had settled on his head. “Let’s get out of this alive, shall we?” 

He offered her his hand, both as a peace offering and to help her up.

Looking at it suspiciously for a moment, Buffy took it and let him pull her up.

Things were unpredictable, grim, and intimidating. But she had to believe they could make it through this. 

She just had to.

 

***

 

Day 3:

To make Giles extremely happy I, Buffy Summers, have decided to start a journal to document current events. Congratulations, Me! I am basically a watcher now!

Me and  jerkface my evil side kick, have been spending most of last night, and today, trying to make this place livable. And even though we're having a hard time agreeing about what “livable” is, we've made a lot of improvements. And a lot of compromises.

For instance, I let him waste time finding cigarettes, if he stops referring to the Sunnydale Razorbacks T-shirts as the “Freedom for Bacon” shirts. Which I thought was a pretty good trade considering I'll probably be wearing these for the unforeseeable future. And a nonsmoking Spike is way worse than normal Spike, although God knows how that's possible. So as I see it, it's a win/win for Buffy! And as it turns out, the people in this school had some pretty useful things in their lockers, like this nifty journal and a pair of pants that I think might actually be my size … Although I haven't tried them on yet. 

I also decided to snoop through Willow’s locker (I'm sorry, Will, I know this place isn't real, and is actually charcoal covered in mayor meat, but I still feel bad) and I found a couple of herbal bags. And knowing that Willow isn't exactly into recreational drugs, it's a pretty safe bet that they’re spell ingredients, which I'm hoping will come in handy if we manage to find some useful spell.

We also agreed that we needed some sleeping arrangements. So with what I would consider to be minimal arguing over who gets what gym mats to sleep on, we came to an agreement like civilized adults.

Okay, so I punched him  _ once _ . But I swear he deserved it!

Mr. Evil now sleeps between the bookshelves in the library: I had suggested the cage but that didn't go over too well.

Meanwhile I've claimed Giles office as my “bedroom”. Which he was suspiciously okay with. I probably shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and we had agreed to find a way to coexist, but I can't help but wonder if there was some ulterior motive, as I’m pretty sure everything Spike does has some ulterior motive.

Whatever the reason, I am happy to report that I am currently snuggled up in here with a bag of M&Ms.

_ [The following was written over a smudgy background, as if something had been written and erased]  _ I miss my mom. I miss Giles, Willow, Xander, and Riley. I even miss Anya and her incredibly rude remarks.

… Please get me out of here.

 

Day 4:

Today was depressing to say the least. We've gone through all the magic books _twice_ by now, and found nada. Unless there is some way for us to translate ourselves out of here. If **When** I get out of here, I need to ask Giles why he didn't keep more useful spells around. You know, just in case someone created a replica of the building and trapped the slayer in it with a vampire companion. Aren't these the sort of things weathered watchers are supposed to predict?

We also spent some time cleaning up after the “earthquake” the other day. A bunch of the food crates, and a shelf in the library had toppled over. So we fixed that and did some dust removal.

Good news is that me and Spike didn't argue at all today, but we barely talked to each other either. 

I catch him staring at me a lot though. I'm currently willing to let that slide since he hasn't brought up the naked incident. Yet, anyways. 

 

Day 5:

Well the no arguing didn't last. Surprise, surprise.

It all started with Spike bringing blood into the library, and besides being just generally super gross, also stinks the place up with a gag-worthy metallic smell. Which led me to point out what a pig he was, that in turn led him to point out how that shouldn't bother me since I am pro freedom for bacon. And because we'd already agreed he wouldn't bring up my razorback shirts again in exchange for me letting him put valuable research time towards finding his cigarettes. I was forced to hide them from him. Which might, sort of, have resulted in him putting a big dent in the library cage with a chair that is now in stake-sized pieces. 

Okay, so in retrospect I can see that both of us acted a little bit like we're in kindergarten, but I think this place is giving us cabin fever or whatever it's called. 

So after I gave him his precious smokes back, we agreed that we needed some rules.

I took the library checkout book, since it was laying right there, to use as our official rule book. By the way, I never realized how few books actually got checked out here. There was barely a page used, and a chunk of the checkouts were by Xander on nymph books. Honestly, it's a miracle the school board even decided to keep the library running.

Anyway, here are the rules we've established so far:

    1. No blood in the library.
    2. No stealing Spike's cigarettes.
    3. Any mentions of “Freedom for Bacon” will be punished by getting the offenders cigarettes taken away.
    4. No smoking in the library.
    5. Spike will never go in the lady's locker room, ever, again.
    6. In fact; No nudity. And no speaking of nudity. 



He then suggested “no snoring”, which I so do not. I am pretty sure he only suggested it because he require more rules than I do to be decent.

Note to self: Ask Riley if I snore.

 

Day 6:

Just more researching.

 

Day 7:

We've organized all the books into piles of priority, so the library is sort of a book maze at the moment.

 

Day 8:

Still finding nothing, so I decided to check all the exits again. Just to make sure … 

 

Day 9:

I worked out for a few hours, then made some s'mores. Been trying to keep morale up today. It's getting harder with the lack of anything we're finding.

 

Day 10:

10 days. If time moved as normal in the real world, my mom and friends must be worried sick by now. I hate doing this to them. I hate being here. And I hate how I'm starting to get used to having him around. We even have a routine now.

My morning starts by waking up, followed by kicking Spike awake. After that I go take a shower as he heats up and drinks his blood, then when he's done it's my turn to use the kitchen. The rest of the day is mostly spent researching and snacking, unless we need breaks because our brains are falling out of our heads.

He's also been trying to get me to play poker with him ever since he found a deck of cards in the lockers. If we don't get out of here soon I might actually take him up on the offer.

 

The sound of music playing in the far distance made Buffy drop her journal. 

_ What was he up to now? _

More curious than agitated, she hurried to her feet and wrapped herself in a blanket she'd found in the nurse’s office the other day, then padded off to locate the source.

The music bounced off the walls of the hallway, then eventually faded into a narrative voice, which began making sense as she neared the AV room. She peeked through the window in the door; the back of Spike's head was visible from behind the sofa, smoke swirls forming and fading above him, the room illuminated up by the TV playing some nature documentary.

“Hey.” She announced and walked up to the sofa.

Spike turned in his seat. “Oh, it's just the Slayer,” he said, as if it was no big deal, then made himself comfortable again, sprawled with his smoke and bag of chips. Taking up way more room than necessary.

“Scooch.” He moved over all of an inch. Buffy rolled her eyes, but curled up against the armrest across from him anyway.

“Why didn't you tell me about this place? I could’ve been watching telly this whole time.” He said, tossing a couple of chips nonchalantly in his mouth.

“Kind of forgot about it actually. A couple of guys were found dead in here my freshman year. Didn't come in here much after that.”

He seemed to think about that while he finished chewing. “I thought people dropped dead in this place about every other Thursday. This bein’ the bloody Hellmouth school and all.”

She frowned. “Pretty much, yeah.”

As callous of a statement as it was, he had a point. She didn't even know the number of people that had died in this school. And she didn't avoid any other part of the school either: she was in the library all the time even though that was where Kendra had been killed.

“Did you know them?”

“Who?”

“The guys.”

“Oh. Not really.”

“Then what was so special about them that you’ve avoided this place for years?” He took a pull on his smoke as he waited for a reply.

She could argue that Spike didn't understand the importance of every human life, but she was tired. And, well, he kept making good points; what was so special about those guys? 

Then it hit her. 

“They were found the day before I died.” The words sounded cold even to her.

She kept her eyes on the TV, but she could see him studying her from the corner of her eye. 

“Pretty sure you're not dead, love. Unless this is some sort of afterlife.” He leaned a bit closer. “It isn't, right?”

“I was only dead a couple of minutes.”

He paused. “Ah.”

“What?”

“Would explain the two chosen birds bit.”

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the topic, she tried to do the small talk thing instead. “So why a nature documentary? There's a bunch of movies to watch.”

“Have nothing to hunt in here. Thought I'd enjoy some animals ripping each other to shreds instead, which I wager's gonna happen any minute now.”

She rolled her eyes again. What had she expected? 

His attention returned to the TV and Buffy couldn't help but watch his profile. 

How strange it was that just ten days ago she was snuggled up on the sofa with her friends, and now she was snuggled up across from her enemy instead. And how had they gotten this domestic? They still hated each other, of course. They argued more than they actually talked, and she still planned to kill him once they got out of there. But it was surprising how well they actually tolerated each other sometimes. How there were moments she felt oddly comfortable around him, like now. She was so tired that she could easily have fallen asleep right next to him if she let herself.

A lion jumped a gazelle on the TV, and a satisfied smile bloomed across Spike's face.

She shook her head in disgust.

What an unfortunate roommate indeed.

 

 


End file.
